


Willy Wagers (As In, More Than One)

by Hawkbringer



Series: Hawkbringer's Greatest Hits [4]
Category: Blazing Saddles (1974)
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Chess, Comedy, Daddy Kink, Desert shenanigans, Dialogue Heavy, Dorks in Love, Eye Sex, Flirting, Frottage, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Homoeroticism, I'm Sorry, Increasingly Outrageous Flirting, Jim the waco kid is totally chaotic neutral and nothing will convince me otherwise, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Morning Wood, Mutual Masturbation, Past Tense, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Canon, Roughing It, Spoon-feeding actually but whatever at this point, also gene wilder's spirit pervades every character he plays, as a plot device, because Jim, bedroom eyes, bobert betting, cheating at chess, cock comparisons, friendship porn, he's a drunk and horny and less-violent Heath-Ledger-Joker, it's subtle though, let that one sink in, mad-cap capers (off-screen), oh come on that should be a tag, one-up-man-ship, pranksters, so willy wonka references were inevitable, they are sheriff and deputy in this, wait mutual non-con is a thing, willy wagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 08:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18774793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkbringer/pseuds/Hawkbringer
Summary: After several months as Sheriff of Rock Ridge, Bart and his deputy Jim get to talking one night over chess - over cheating at chess, specifically - and Bart admits that boredom is starting to get to him. And what better way to alleviate boredom than with a little wager...?





	1. Cheating at Chess

**Author's Note:**

> From June 15th, 2016 (half an hour after I'd watched the movie):
> 
> There ain't much on Bart and Jim on AO3 for Blazing Saddles. It was such a hella fun movie, and they _totally_ had that eye-sex thing goin' on. When I was a kid, I guess I thought Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka was just a little mad, and the dreamy quality of his eyes and smiles was just more of that, just more crazy, but when his character looks at Bart like that.... They clearly be havin' some _deep_ conversations, if you know what I mean. 
> 
> There are four, very short, one-shots in the Jim/Bart ship tag on AO3. One of them is a Lili/Bart/Jim threesome, the other four are kiss-and-fade-to-black codas of varying degrees of seriousness and faithfulness to the movie. I like the one where they were still sitting in the theater, to see it as a post-credits scene. Even though the credits happen _before_ the movie, this far in the past...
> 
> My idea is different. It's kind of like friendship porn. I just _love_ my boys to have long conversations and an inexplicable but absolutely unshakable trust in each other. When their banter is smooth because their thoughts are untroubled. It's hard for me to write that, but that's my Holy Grail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From June 15th, 2016 (half an hour after I'd watched the movie):
> 
> There ain't much on Bart and Jim on AO3 for Blazing Saddles. It was such a hella fun movie, and they _totally_ had that eye-sex thing goin' on. When I was a kid, I guess I thought Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka was just a little mad, and the dreamy quality of his eyes and smiles was just more of that, just more crazy, but when his character looks at Bart like that.... They clearly be havin' some _deep_ conversations, if you know what I mean. 
> 
> There are four, very short, one-shots in the Jim/Bart ship tag on AO3. One of them is a Lili/Bart/Jim threesome, the other four are kiss-and-fade-to-black codas of varying degrees of seriousness and faithfulness to the movie. I like the one where they were still sitting in the theater, to see it as a post-credits scene. Even though the credits happen _before_ the movie, this far in the past...
> 
> My idea is different. It's kind of like friendship porn. I just _love_ my boys to have long conversations and an inexplicable but absolutely unshakable trust in each other. When their banter is smooth because their thoughts are untroubled. It's hard for me to write that, but that's my Holy Grail.

"Check," Jim breezily informed his partner, leaning back in his now-accustomed chair, lacing his hands behind his head. Bart had his eyes trained on his alcoholic friend and waited for an opening. Jim blinked, long and slow, savoring the end of another blisteringly hot day in the desert, when the temperature dropped to maybe 102 after the sun set. Bart made his move. When Jim opened his eyes, he made his _other_ move. 

"Checkmate."

Jim unfolded his hands then, and leaned back in to examine the board. He stared hard at the pieces nearest to Bart's end of the board, then flicked his gaze up to the errant trickster, expression unmissably shrewd and eyes dancing with mirth.

"Why, by the stars. My honest sherrif is a liar and a cheat. Now, whatso _eeever_ is to be done about that?"

Bart leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "A cheatin' sheriff, now, there's a new one. Corrupt and sleazy and lazing on the job, that's per usual." 

Jim chuckled goodnaturedly, keeping his eyes on Bart's face as his hands struck like lightning and rearranged the board yet again, even _more_ to his liking this time. 

"Maybe we'll have to lock _you_ up, sugar..."

"Aww, now... Don't you be gettin' sweet on me..." Bart drawled, certain of the fact, but not the details, of Jim's reshuffle of the pieces. His eyes _also_ never moving, his hands shot out to assess the situation on the board... But his fingers closed around a piece that wasn't there. Frowning, he broke the impromptu staring contest and looked down at the board. His king was flat-out _gone_. One eyebrow high, Bart glanced up again at his deputy, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Looking for this?" Jim twirled the black king between his fingers with one of those winning half-smiles on his face. Bart wasn't fooled. 

"Sick and tired of playin' by the rules, are ya, Jimmy boy?" He narrowed his eyes and made a completely transparent grab for the white king, which Jim magnanimously let him take. Holding up his tiny trophy, Bart was struck by the urge to flick his tongue out at it. Not entirely sure how that might be taken, the playful spark left his eyes and his smile shrank. He turned the king upside down on the desktop and focused on it, trying to keep it balanced on its tiny cross head with one finger on its base. 

"Sick and tired of playing at all, are ya, hero?" That got Bart's attention all right, the piece falling from his finger as he shot a single glare at Jim. That _insufferable_ , knowing smirk! Feeling philosophical, Bart sighed.

"Every game, it ends the same. You win some, you lose some."

Handing Bart the black king across the table, his handsome face as open and inviting as it ever was, Jim pulled him into one more game with the line, "More like, you lose some, you lose some, for you, lately. Want me to let you win?" 

The potential of _some_ small victory, after the clusterfuck of today, seemed more inviting than ever. Not watching his mouth, Bart acquiesed, gripping the white king before Jim really let it go. "I do... But make it hard for me first, will you?" 

Jim blinked slow and smiled like poisoned honey as his fingers brushed down Bart's leather-clad arm on his way to snatch up the black king. "I can do that for ya, sugar. That I _can_ do..."

Jim made sure Bart _did_ win that game. But it was a near thing.


	2. Waking With Woody

When Bart woke Jim up the next morning, and had to haul his drunk ass out of bed again, he held him like a bride for a few more seconds than he thought the man would tolerate. Seemingly preferring to believe everything liminally-spaced to be a dream, Jim simply hummed contentedly, and tugged for purchase and closeness on Bart's newest, lavish sheriff's outfit, this one in a checkered cream. 

Wrong-footed, Jim's eyebrows drew themselves close together and he hurried to deposit his deputy on the lower bunk on his back, taking care to sit nearer to his feet than his hands this time, waiting for the wastrel to wake himself up. "You always get so snuggly when you're dreaming?" he baldly asked the other man when he stirred.

"Only when 'm dreaming of you, sugar," Jim mumbled, fishing out his ubiquitous whisky bottle for his morning pick-me-up. Bart turned his head, a little embarrassed at the pride he felt at that. 

"Better be only me," he half-growled, playfully half-mushing the drunkard's pillow over his face. "Daddy hears you've been sluttin' it up with those other boys, Daddy's gonna be pissed." 

Breaking into hysterical laughter as if he was being tickled, Jim flailed around on the bed slightly, Bart drawing back for fear of being smacked in the stomach. Getting the pillow off of his face, finally, Jim seemed to sober instantly as he looked up at Bart. "I'll never do that to ya, sugar. You'll never have to worry." 

With no response to that, Bart just nodded, his long days in the sun hiding any flush that may have warmed his face. 

"Besides," Jim informed him breezily as he swung his legs off the bed under his own power, stood, and began dropping his pants, "Anybody's gettin' called Daddy around here, it's gonna be me." 

"You got any goddamned proof of that, prisoner?" Bart blustered, both of them well aware they'd stopped being prisoner and jailer since they first laid eyes on each other. 

"Mmm," Jim hummed noncommittally, his back to the sheriff and his ass on full display. He lifted one leg a handful of inches higher than necessary to step out of last week's pants, and bent over a few more inches than necessary to pull next week's up. "That ain't somethin' ya need to worry your darling little head about right now, sugar." 

Unfazed, Bart's gaze flicked from Jim's crotch, now at eye-level as he sat, to the sharpshooter's face. He wasn't exactly impressed with the display and he told him so.

"Baby, I've seen dicks _far_ more impressive than that, and in the mirror, no less." 

Jim threw back his head and let out a full-throated laugh, then turned to tug on a slightly-cleaner-than-the-other-one shirt. "Sugar," and it was fast becoming something other than an insult between them, "Ever heard of being a grower, not a shower?" Bart's eyebrow still cocked disbelievingly, Jim easily conceded, throwing up his hands in defeat. "Oh, well. Guess you'll just have to believe it when you see it." 

"Uh-huh," Bart sarcastically agreed, throwing Jim's hat at him, which he caught handily. " _Suuuure_ I will." 

Jim simply fluttered his eyes teasingly. "How much you wanna set the bet for?"

Bart raised his eyebrows. "If I feel the need to call _you_ Daddy after seeing your 'proof,' I'll sleep the whole night through right next to _you_."

Jim's eyes twinkled, though his smile didn't widen. "And if _you_ win?" 

Bart raised both eyebrows as if the conclusion were simply elementary. " _You_ sleep the whole night through next to the _pigs_ out back."

The way Jim's face twisted in dismay at that mental image had Bart laughing behind his hand as Jim spluttered. "But, but, but _that's_ hardly fair!"

Bart raised both his hands as he and Jim walked out of Jim's cell to start another day as the daring duo of Law and Order in Rock Ridge. "Hey, it's your Johnson on the line, buddy, not mine!"

The townsfolk overheard. "Whose Johnson is on the line? Is it Olsen?" "Is it Ogden?" "Is it Herbert?" "Is it Hubbard?" 

Waving down the alliterative protests of the townsfolk that _still_ , after all the _many_ days they'd had to get used to his presence, would _still_ look his deputy in the eye before the sheriff, Bart settled into the daily routine of keeping these utter morons from self-destructing due to over-exposure to their own brains, and forgot all about that bet he'd made with Jim....


	3. Dicked Over by the Desert

[Previously on...]  
_Waving down the alliterative protests of the townsfolk that **still** , after all the **many** days they'd had to get used to his presence, would **still** look his deputy in the eye before the sheriff, Bart settled into the daily routine of keeping these utter morons from self-destructing due to over-exposure to their own brains, and forgot all about that bet he'd made with Jim...._

...Until a set of crazy madcap circumstances while on a mission of derring-do deeds, in which Bart was forced to confront the aforementioned 'proof' of Jim's manly status. 

Bart never did call him 'Daddy,' but that night, they did sleep the whole night through, shoulders jammed against each other and morning breath written off as a business expense. 

Given how Jim decided to wake him up, though, Bart was solely tempted to charge the donkey-dong damages. To his nostril's capabilities if nothing else.

"Not to your eyes?" Jim teased, stroking his impressive morning wood with one hand right in Bart's immediate range of vision. The sheriff rolled his eyes and shoved himself up off the ground, giving every appearance of nonchalance in the face of his manhood's maledictor. 

"Like I said before, brother, I've _seen_ larger, even in the mirror."

"Ohhh-ho-ho-ho HO! So you're wanting to wager another bet, eh? Betting I'd call _you_ Daddy if I saw that Johnson of yours in action?"

"Aww, now, where's the _fun_ on betting on such a sure outcome? Don't you have any dignity left to lose?" Jim's grin in response to that edged into territory that looked downright salacious.

"Now, sugar, don't go promising me goods you can't deliver..."

"Can't?" Bart turned from the cook-fire with one very hot ladle still in hand. "CAN'T? Brother, them's fightin' words, and I got the weapon, here."

Jim's smile creeped across his face wider and wider, and Bart was momentarily afraid his deputy was about to roll onto his stomach and approach him on all fours like some kind of mountain lion. 

The same thought crossed Jim's mind, too, but he jilted both of them by sliding back into his sleeping bag and throwing both hands behind his neck. He even pulled his hat over to shade his bloodshot eyes. "You lemme know when soup's on, will ya, boss-man?"

"Uhh... Are we just gonna forget you just made a wager where you practically begged to see my horse-sized dick?" 

Jim shrugged easily, not moving much beyond that. "I figure, when you're ready, you'll let me know."

"I'll let you know when the soup's on?"

Jim cracked an eyelid and gave a single wink before settling back in to nap again. "You could call it that...." he acquiesced easily.

Bart licked his lips without realizing he was doing it. "You know it's your turn to cook tomorrow, don't ya?" 

Jim shrugged again. "Sure thing, sheriff. What _eeeever_ you say..." He gave a real yawn and smacked his lips together a few times. 

Jolted by the sound, but also wanting to draw out the suspense of this charade for as long as humanly possible, Bart forced himself to say nothing until the soup for breakfast really _was_ done, and watched Jim's eyes pop open with a smug sort of satisfaction. A moment of pursed lips and narrowed eyes was all he earned for teasing his deputy like that. 

Their unorthodox wager had the unexpected side benefit of reducing Jim's reaction time, as he was cutting back on drinking like a fish in order to see if he could bounce back from what he'd heard other people term 'whisky dick.' 

Bart propped his head up on one arm just a handful of days later, after the cocks had crowed and woken him, watching Jim choke his chicken with a completely stoic look on his face. He was waiting for the half-asleep man to open his eyes and make some sort of embarrassing spluttering sound, but he got only a few shuddering breaths and a rather impressive early morning fountaining that raised both _his_ eyebrows with its volume. That one might be a tough act to follow....

Determined to one-up the irascible showman, Bart took his own wood in hand and panted out variations on names beginning with J until he was begging for "John... John! Johnson! Jim!" 

As he panted through the come-down, he started rather badly at the feeling of Jim's hand on his shoulder. "'M right here, baby, what you need?" 

"You.... _You_..." Bart tried to summon up a vitriolic enough diatribe, but the half-asleep ex-drunk took his words at face value, petting and shushing him and rolling over to lay on top of him, closing his eyes beatifically and falling back asleep.

Trapped, with a rather spectacularly unclean hand (and arm), Bart looked heavenward for a moment and sighed, tensed muscles deflating and begrudgingly wiping his sullied hand on a nearby bush's leaves.

Whiiich, later that day, he turned out to be rather violently allergic to.


	4. Happiness is a Handsy Deputy

That night at camp, with a hilariously-large bandage around his entire hand, Bart was clumsily spoon-feeding himself with his left hand, when Jim pointed out that he could probably do it better. Bart snapped something about how Jim clearly thought him a helpless woman, which Jim cleared up rather quickly by placing on hand on Bart's chest, and another on his crotch. 

_Handsy bastard_ , Bart thought to himself, resisting the urge to shout, "Fresh!" and slap Jim silly. He'd probably accidentally use his burning, swollen hand anyway and make an utter fool of himself yet again.

The hand on his chest roamed and palpated quite a bit more freely than did the one lower down, which Bart was irritated at himself for finding a disappointment. Indeed, the one on his cock merely pressed close and cupped slightly, whereas the one on his chest pawed and ground up against him, both sensations jarring and not unpleasant as Jim murmured, "Not a hint of woman here, sugar. Want me to prove it to you again? How 'bout it? Want a chance to sleep in my arms all night again?" 

"If I _did_ , and I'm not saying I do..." Bart began. 

Jim deadpanned, "You're totally saying you do."

"I'm not saying I _do_..." Bart insisted with an extra growl and an eyeroll, "I wouldn't bet you on _this_. We settled _this_ , didn't we?"

"Well..." Jim appeared to deliberate, even as he picked up Bart's spoon and began hand-feeding him, nonchalantly, as if he did it every day, "The _size_ issue, yes, but I _do_ believe we've left untested the issue of _stamina_..." 

Bart turned to stare openly at him, causing the 'choo-choo train' to miss his lips and spill greasy beans all over the side of his face. "Jim? Are you _actually_ going to challenge me to masturbatory contests until you're granted the unrestricted right to paw at my dick whenever you feel like it?"

Jim actually looks taken aback. "I was originally thinking in terms much less ambitious than those, but, hell, sheriff, if you're offering...!"

"Argh, no! No no, no, no!" Bart tried to shake Jim by the shoulders, but could reasonably only grab one and so the resultant agitation was a bit hilariously lopsided. " _What_ are you actually after with this, He-man? What's your end goal, here?"

"End goal?" Jim parroted guilelessly, his bright, black-hole-blue eyes innocently gazing up at his boss. "Don't really have one. Just trying out something I've discovered I like doing, trying ta do more of it."

"Can ya be a little more specific, partner?" Bart all but growled at him, missing the rightness of having two whole hands to hold down his shoulders with. Not that he's held him down like that before... But if he were to do it properly, it stands to reason he'd need both hands. For symmetry. "You _like_ making me get handsy with you?" Bart waved his injured hand for emphasis, only to smack himself in the head, then winced when he realized how that sentence sounded. But Jim agreed without reservation.

"I like making you get handsy with me," he parroted seriously, his hands (both free _and_ uninjured, the asshole, Bart noted with more than a twinge of jealousy) coming up to smear nonsensically over his face, arms, clothed shoulders. "Ya know, baby, this would feel so much better if you'd just take your shirt off," Jim informed him in a very reasonable tone of voice.

Bart braced himself with his one good hand in a highly suggestive position, hovering over Jim, and didn't help either of them get undressed at all. 

Jim didn't actually seem to need any help in that department, and once he'd gotten their Johnsons both in separate hands, Bart exhaled sharply, and began snapping his hips, panting out his first words in as many minutes, "Where'd you... Learn to... Do this?" 

Jim's lips twisted wryly for a moment. "Not too many dames in jail, if you know what I mean, sugar." 

"How _many_ others...?"

Jim shrugged. How he could remain so maddeningly in control when his member throbbed so dizzingly close to Bart's own, just as swollen, just as hot, Bart would never understand. "Half a dozen at most. Most criminals ain't desperate enough for someone else's hand to risk extra time on sodomy charges." 

"And you were? Don't get me wrong, I'm very.. ahhh... _glad_ you were..."

Jim shook his head, more depth to his smile this time. "Jail was the nicest digs I'd ever had. Specially yours, boss. I wouldda done anything to stay right where I fuckin' was." Bart wasn't one prone to swearing in uncharged conversations, and Jim picked up on the hint that he was _finally_ feeling affected by all this. A little voice in his head told him he could make Jim feel even _more_ affected by putting his hands on _him_ in turn... But there wasn't much of Jim that Bart wanted to touch, exactly, aside from his hips, and his hands, and his throat. 

Inspired by the closeness of his deputy's throat to his line of vision, Bart dropped his head, balancing on both his elbows now, and began snapping his hips crudely against Jim's as he investigated the smell and taste properties of Jim's throat. No finesse in the way he jerked his hips, no hint of the slow, cat-like way he could drag out a lover's pleasure, had he been with a woman. There was hardly any need to show off. Jim was there, Bart was there, all either of them needed was one final push... 

Taking a risk, Bart parted his lips and slurped on a mouthful - of Jim's throat. Jim let out a cry that Bart immediately tried to stifle with his own mouth, accidentally kissing him in the process, as the other man's hands sped up, knocking against each other, wrists straining uncomfortably with the terrible angle, but just a touch of his tongue against Bart's lips was enough to set the taller man off, words, oaths, lost behind his lips, teeth clenched tight as he rode the wave of induced pleasure, bouncing like he was on a horse. His thigh muscles ached like hours of riding when his mind came back to him, when he panted one last time, licked and sucked on Jim's throat again, not bothering to muffle the cry that action drew out. Let them get in trouble. They were both dead men anyway.

"Dead men have all the fun," Bart complained, a hand still on his deputy's hip, thumb rubbing circles into the cooling spunk-splash there, his face shoved close to Jim's, the better to certify that his morning breath smelled the same way he remembered it, that this whole event hadn't been one weird dream.

"We are the thinkers of long thoughts, and we are the dreamers of dreams," Jim agreed hazily, in his cryptic prose way of his, breathing purposefully into Bart's mouth once he recognized what the other man was after. 

Satisfied, Bart rolled halfway over, away from Jim's truly awful breath, but couldn't quite bring himself to pull away completely, so he let their arms touch as they fell back asleep, stupidly letting the cooking fire burn down to nothing. Not like they'd need much warmth tonight anyway, not with a living blanket to sleep beside.


End file.
